


Prescribed Unworthiness

by Bawgdan



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bawgdan/pseuds/Bawgdan
Summary: Alex's darkness is a stubborn monster. She is bloated with self hatred.“I lap your milk of illness up. It nurtures my dying” ~ Melissa Broder
Relationships: Alex Benedetto/Nicolas Brown
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	Prescribed Unworthiness

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The white coat looks like a giant marshmallow with sleeves, the hood of it so deep, the hem sits right at the brow of the mannequin. Downy and soft. Expensive-looking. 

_When was the last time I got myself something nice?_ Alex thinks to herself as she stands outside of the boutique, staring around her reflection at the mannequins. She has been depriving herself of nice things as an act of retribution—she had programmed herself to be disgusted with her desire. The religious believe that wanting is a sign of the devil. The pious hate whores, yet Alex, who is a proper whore, is inclined to agree. Her body is horrid. She hates it. It can be false to everyone else, but Alex looks at herself and actively, aggressively, dislikes what she sees.

Worick had said that the most fun, your true phoenix rising from the ashes moment in life, is when you start enjoying the things people have used as weapons against you. _Reclamation or what have you_ —Worick's voice raps on her skull. _I've arrived and you're coming too. You're getting there_. He'd held out his hands, with a towel wrapped around his wet head. The sunlight cut around his silhouette. It looked like he was glowing or about to levitate.

Alex stares at this faux fur coat, eyes like saucers. She hasn't wanted anything of material value in a long time. Now that she thinks about it, since she was a kid. It isn't a question of money. She makes a living now and there's no one around to claim a fat percentage of it. All the crisp bills in her purse belong solely to her. Hell, she's even considered a bank account, a real thing functioning adults have. Worick might've been right. She is arriving at her destination, considering that she is somewhat functional now.

An older woman in a big church hat steps out of the store with three big bags. The slap of the door snaps Alex out of her cloud of want. She makes up her mind then. At the very least, she deserves to try it on.

Inside of the dressing room, she holds the big coat in her arms, caressing it with a flat palm. Her fingers glide across the material. It smells like perfume. The entire store smells sweet—like if diamonds were edible and gold drinkable. The cramped space of the dressing room sort of makes her aware of the smoke smell of Worick's denim jacket. She sits the coat on a hook then proceeds to take off all of her clothes. Her shoes too. Even her favorite pair of silver earrings that are turning green. 

Alex slides her arms inside of the soft coat and it feels like she is being wrapped inside of a weighted blanket. The warmth immediately engulfing her. She turns to face herself in the mirror. Her hair sticks up from the plastic brown clip she'd gotten for a dollar. 

Her first thought is that she looks very feminine, which is something she doesn't feel a whole lot. She notices the concave of her belly button and thinks it's cute. Her neck is supple. The space between her breasts soft enough to want to lay her own head between them. Stepping out of _herself_ , Alex lifts her left leg in a pose, her ankle popping. It's not even about the coat in anymore, it's how she feels inside of it.

She buys the damn thing. The sales associate guffaws at the crumbled up large bills Alex slaps down on the counter. 

"Can I wear it out?" Alex asks, meekly. The sales associate is a young girl in pointy glasses. She is just about to tug a covering over the coat hanger.

"It's yours. You bought it, ma'am."

 _It's mine_. Alex nods to herself. No one is going to take it from her. 

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She notices the window open from the street. Typically, she has the place to herself during the day. Alex tip-toes up the stairs, carrying the plastic bag of groceries while trying not to drag the end of her coat on the dirty steps. The sound of her sneakers sliding against the grit makes her grimace like she's never been aware of how dirty the flight up to the apartment is.

Nicolas sits at the window smoking a cigarette. He is flipping through a newspaper, grimacing like a curmudgeonly old man. On the floor there is a trail of foot sized puddles. Alex then notices the smell of soap wafting through the cool draft. Nicolas doesn't look up to acknowledge her—which doesn't always mean he isn't aware that she is around. Most of the time, Nicolas is aware. Alex has noticed they both have this tendency to make themselves smaller or as invisible as a tangible person can be.

Whether it is shyness or indifference, Alex can never tell. Sometimes, Nicolas will have these radical gestures of kindness like leaving her the last of the donuts, writing her name on designated things. He will take her laundry and fold it separately from his and Worick. Then there are moments when she will ask him a question (perhaps dumb ones) and he will not answer.

Alex sits down the bags of groceries, fishing out Nicolas' favorite brand of sarsaparilla. She walks over to the window and sits it on the sill. There's already a graveyard of cola cans and water bottles filled with cigarette butts. Nicolas looks up at her, chewing at his thumb. He isn't wearing a shirt. She loves the way Nicolas looks and wishes she could appreciate herself with the same adoration.

"I thought about you." Alex is always thinking about Nicolas and Worick. Especially Nicolas, but only because he doesn't share Worick's transparency. Nicolas isn't the type to express his needs. All Worick can talk about is what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants it. Sometimes, he does the talking for Nicolas and Alex can only ever wonder if it's really what Nicolas wants.

Nicolas spits the hangnail out the window then gives her a cursory _thank you_ with his hand. Cigarette ash flutters on the floor. He stares at her expectantly until she remembers herself and walks back to the groceries. 

She starts by taking everything out of the bags, separating the stuff that goes in the fridge from the stuff that goes in the cabinets. It is when she starts putting things away when Nicolas joins her. He takes the can of raviolis from her hand and sits it on a shelf she can not reach. The sudden feel of his shower soft hand startles Alex. She stands back, instead watching Nicolas sort the groceries himself. The waistband of the sweatpants he wears hangs off his hips (they belong to Worick). When he stretches or bends forward, Alex gets a peek of the dimples in his lower back. She hides her mouth in the fuzzy sleeve of her coat. 

After he's put everything away, he gently closes the fridge and glares at her. Alex imagines she looks mighty dumb with her face in the crook of her arm. Then Nicolas shows that he feels a bit silly himself. He sucks in his jaws and scratches the back of his head, turning in the opposite direction, back to his spot by the window.

Alex remembers how pretty she felt in the dressing room. Down to her pubic hairs and the blemishes on the back of her legs. And then considers the liquid consistency of her life. How fast it moves. How malleable her feelings are. Those feelings no longer exist and she hates that she spent so much money for one hit of dopamine.

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She woke up from her nap to the sound of the skillet and the smell of bacon. The sun is still out but the cream colored wall is orange with afternoon light. Alex sits up from the couch to Nick standing over the stove. In the fog of sleep she has a lusty thought about his elbows and the veins in his arms. Nicolas scoops the eggs out of the skillet and onto two plates. Alex's gut fills with warmth, still not used to being part of another person's routine. She operates under the assumption that she is still a guest in their lives. Nicolas sits by her on the couch, handing her a plate and a plastic fork. Her coat is folded over the back of the coach, the cushions absorb the smell of it's perfume. 

Alex smiles at him as he tears through a limp piece of bacon with his crooked teeth. Not hungry, Alex eats it all anyway. Every now and then stealing glances at the primitive way he chews. He shoves whole globs of bacon and eggs into his mouth. His mouth so full, a knot of food protrudes from his jaw. He slurps, gulps, and groans with satisfaction. He washes it all down with the sarsaparilla. A trickle of it runs down the side of his mouth. Alex instinctively wipes at it with a finger. Nicolas chokes at the unprovoked gesture. He turns his head away from her hand to cough. From the neck up to his forehead he turns red.

She watches him gather his composure, her face twisting with mortification. Nicolas sits his plate on the floor, wiping the wetness from his eyes. The space between his brows wrinkled so it looks pinched and painful. Alex knows what it's like to not want to be touched and feels as though she has crossed a boundary. And even if that weren't the case, she'd never know because Nicolas is purposefully elusive. 

"That wasn't really cool of me. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." The appetite she was starting to have vanished. She shoots up from the couch but Nicolas grabs the back of her thigh with acute pressure. His fingertips sink into the fat. If she were a candle, she would've melted into a puddle of wax. The palm of his hand is hot against her skin. Alex looks into his flushed face. A wet ring of snot is around his nostrils. 

"Stay." His voice cuts through the dryness of strangulation, the punctuation of a compact, wet cough. He rasps it again with his chest. His hand never leaves her thigh. 

Alex hesitates. His hand sliding up from her thigh, over the softness of her behind when she sits down. When he withdraws his hand it's like he's severing a nerve. 

They just sit together with this calm space between. Alex's plate gets cold in her lap. Nicolas sinks down into the couch, resting his head on the back. His disposition is open. With her eyes, Alex graze's the landscape of his body. His strips of pale stretch marks. Cuts that have healed over pink. Burns. Craters. The discoloration on his left shoulder. 

This is the first time Alex has ever considered wanting to bite into someone and eat them. Resting her plate by her feet, Alex sits up straight, touches the inside of his arm. Nicolas gives her a knowing look, so she lifts her hand higher, massaging his throat. Her thumb ghosting over his Adam's apple. She gets the intrusive thought to suck on his smooth neck. Alex's craving to do so repulses her, which warps her lust into something sharp. It expands in her lower abdomen with it's sharp edges. 

Nicolas removes the lopsided clip from it's tangle in her hair. Alex dies a good death when he grabs her chin, his thumb also probing her mouth for permission. The sadness she feels is overwhelming, the disgusting glut of her want slithers up into her chest. She inhales his thumb, tasting the bacon grease. Nicolas raises himself to kiss the side of her face. Alex believes that he deserves a lot better. Just because she has been harboring salacious thoughts doesn't mean she ought to have him. Nicolas moves to her mouth and Alex greedily breathes him in. 

She can't remember her first kiss, so she will remember this as her first time. Alex will even go as far as to say that her birth starts here, the day she got off the streets her conception. 

Sinking her head against the arm of the couch, she slides out of her shorts, then her wet panties. Nicolas works one leg out of his sweatpants. He stretches his body over hers, moving inside of her with a rightness that brings a crude sound out of them both. For Alex, it hurts only a little on a conceptual level. She is embarrassed to be this creature of sexual desire and is unable to make direct eye contact because it feels so good. Her toes curl. Nicolas crushes his nose and mouth into her jaw when she turns her head. His mouth open so that with each push of himself, his breathing trickles down into her neck, pooling at her collar bone, seeping hot down her chest. Alex kisses the inside of his arm, sucking in the smell of his deodorant. He quickens the roll of his hips the more she softens, deepening himself through the pressure of her orgasm. A progression of fluent groans ripple from Nicolas' stomach. Sharp notes. Flat notes. Some of them break apart like water around rocks. Alex feels the vibration of them against her stomach. It makes her thighs shake. 

She rides the ebb and flow until her hips ache. Her brain melts into a hot ooze behind her eyeballs. It feels close to love but she's not sure it's been long enough. He beats the affection out of her, it bubbles up into her throat, coming up as tiny hiccups.

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**Author's Note:**

> this is garbage. i couldn't commit to my full on slut and for that I apologize D:


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